Champion
by White Aster
Summary: Soundwave has fought in (and lost) Mortilus' Games as part of the Festival of the Five for twelve Festival cycles. This time will be different. (Part of the Festival of the Five collection.)
**NOTES:** This fic is a joyful mashup of Aligned 'verse and Bayverse ideas. The physical appearance of all mechs is as they are depicted in TF: Prime, while the ideas of Optimus and Megatron being Prime and Lord High Protector is shamelessly stolen from Bayverse, baked into a "war, what war?" filling. (Thus, Soundwave is relatively slender and flight-framed, though he does not yet have his cassettes.) The idea of the Festival of the Five and Mortilus' Games is not mine, but when I saw the fun collection of fic ideas pop up on Tumblr, I just had to take part. Please see the Festival of the Five collection on for more takes on this idea.

 **A note on time:**

klik: ~second  
joor: ~hour  
(planetary) cycle: ~day  
vorn: ~year  
stellar cycle: many yearsish  
Primal cycle: a Prime's reign (so Primal Cycle 24 is the entirety of Optimus' reign)

* * *

 ** _Joor 0600, Vorn 753.56, Stellar Cycle 1349873, Primal Cycle 24_ **

Soundwave's first action upon awaking from recharge was to check his messages. Registering for the Games was always a bit inefficient, as the registration servers were constantly stressed (both by registrants and hackers attempting to gain access to the registrant lists) and did not always send out confirmations immediately. Soundwave had sent his in late the planetary cycle before and...ah yes, there it was. Good.

Soundwave rose from his recharge slab, looking out his window at the dim sunlight falling on the next building over. Transports and flight frames traced across the small sliver of sky he could see.

This would be the last time, he thought. Surely, if there was a chance, he would succeed in thirteen tries. It made no sense to risk irreparable damage Festival after Festival in eternal pursuit of...something he could not achieve and possibly was not meant to have.

 _Yes,_ he thought. _Once more. And then I will let it go._

There were, he reminded himself as he drank his energon and then headed to work, other goals. Projects to work on. Certifications to train for. Cassettes to build. All worthy objectives that would benefit from the time he now spent honing his fighting skills.

It was, he thought as he landed at the Protectorate and headed inside, just as well. It wasn't as if he'd ever truly expected to win the Games.

The shift in priorities would be a relief. A welcome change of pace. Yes.

Writ strode into the Lord High Protector's office with his usual stack of datapads in one arm and an extra cube of energon in the other. He set the latter down on the desk, nudging aside the empty cube already sitting next to Megatron's elbow. "My Lord, I have your morning items, and Soundwave is here for you."

"Thank you, Writ. Let's hurry this up, if you please. I have a shuttle to catch." Megatron reached down without looking and picked up the new cube, sipping from it. He waved Soundwave into his office even as he scanned his desk terminal's screen. Soundwave stepped inside, standing at ease to the side of the door to wait.

"Of course, my Lord." Soundwave's sensors detected the heavily-encrypted communique Writ pinged to the Lord High Protector. "Your daily update, two legislative reports, the documents Director Starscream has provided for your visit today-" here there was a physical datapad, which Megatron took without looking and subspaced absently "-and one memo from the Prime, sir."

"Only one," Megatron said, dryly. "He must be slacking off."

"It is rather long, sir."

Megatron paused, obviously consulting the file, and made a face. "I see. What next?"

Writ set his remaining pile of datapads on the edge of the Protector's desk. "A few requests are ready for your review, sir. Shall we work through them now, or would you like them-"

"Now." Megatron looked up, finally giving Writ his full attention, and reached out a hand.

Writ laid the first pad into it. "Infrastructure and hardware maintenance authorization, Third Regiment."

The Lord High Protector skimmed through it. "Includes the transport upgrades for the 101st?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Expedite it." The pad _beep_ ed as he transmitted his authorization code.

Writ lifted the pad from his hand, replacing it with another. "Cyclical regimental supply estimates."

"The Fifth's is more reasonable than last vorn's, I expect."

"Yes, sir."

 _beep_

"Request to purchase additional medical supplies from non-pre-approved suppliers, First and Third Regiments."

 _beep_ "Make these standing." _beep_ "Lightweld and whoever's keeping the Third on their feet can have whatever they want, until that offensive is over."

"Yes, sir. Senior staff leave approvals for the next quarter."

Megatron paused, a flicker of concern showing on his faceplates as he skimmed the pad. "Is it Festival time already? Frag, it is. Have I received-"

"Already on your schedule, sir."

"Opening remarks?"

"It is the Prime's turn, sir."

"Good." Megatron continued scanning the pad with more visible interest. "I can only hope that we are never invaded during the Festival. I would have to organize a defense with a skeleton regiment and whatever I can draft of the waste disposal crews because my best officers have beaten each other to slag at the Arena." _beep_

He cast an amused look in Soundwave's direction, but Soundwave was relieved of having to reply by Megatron's desk display chiming a polite reminder at exactly the same time Soundwave's internal calendar did the same. Writ gathered the last pad and said, "Have a good flight, sir. I will inform Trypticon Station that you are en route."

Soundwave fell into step behind Megatron as the Lord High Protector strode from his office.

"Familiar names on the leave list for the Festival," Megatron observed. "How many times is this, for you?"

"Thirteen, my Lord."

"An auspicious number. Your dedication is to be commended."

Soundwave carefully kept his field neutral. It was slightly embarrassing to have Megatron's attention on the matter. He knew that his commander did not know the reason behind that persistence, and so couldn't be commenting on that, but...well, Soundwave had _lost_ twelve times, as well. At first it had not bothered him, when he felt that he had had no chance of winning. But he had done better-had _become_ better-as the vorns passed, until he could almost... Well. Until it seemed merely improbable rather than impossible. However, none of that was work-appropriate conversation. "For the glory of the Five," Soundwave said.

"Yes...," Megatron turned his helm to regard Soundwave thoughtfully and not without, Soundwave guessed, curiosity. Some did enter the Games as a show of religious fervor, and it was certainly a reason above reproach, but Soundwave expected that the Lord High Protector knew him well enough to see through that thin explanation.

Megatron did not press, however. Their long strides took them to the lift, and shortly after they were climbing into the shuttle jet. Megatron's plating relaxed a bit, as it always did when he could leave some of his administrative burdens behind to instead focus on less political matters. "All right, then," he said, unsubspacing a datapad. "Starscream is singing the praises of these new transmitter designs, but I want to hear your opinion. Starscream's brilliant, but I can never tell how much he's blowing smoke up my exhaust when he insists that something is 'groundbreaking' and 'revolutionary.'"

Soundwave brought up his own notes on his HUD. "Exaggeration, minimal, in current report." Which was not a given, as they both well knew, but the report included enough primary data to verify the claims, in Soundwave's opinion. Not to mention, Soundwave's estimation of the honesty of any report from Starscream's lab went up 100% when he saw Skyfire's co-sign at the bottom. "New miniaturized nanotransmitter likely to improve special operations intelligence gathering considerably, with reduced personnel attention to planted devices. Results of additional signal penetrance tests versus metals and organic rock of various compositions and thicknesses would be useful."

Megatron's optics raised to meet his. "You are thinking of that disaster on Corus 9."

Soundwave nodded, doubting that either of them would forget it anytime soon. There were many types of defeat, but loss of several of their best operatives due to hardware failure was the most frustrating. "Affirmative."

"An excellent point," Megatron said, making a notation on his pad. "I will add it to Starscream's to-do list. ...Now, what else?"

Soundwave mentioned his concerns about the new technology's reliability near high-energy infrastructure such as ship engines. Megatron wondered how the batteries would fare at varying temperatures. They both commiserated over the Turtex offensive, where batteries, hardware, and frames alike had suffered from the punishing cold.

By the time they arrived at Trypticon Station and were greeted with Starscream's usual enthusiastic fanfare, Megatron had a list of-in Soundwave's opinion-appropriate questions. Soundwave was more than happy to leave the asking of them to Megatron. For some reason, Megatron seemed to relish the verbal sparring matches with his Director of Research and Development.

Soundwave, meanwhile, stood next to Skyfire, the two of them conferring in a much quieter and genial way than their superiors.

Overall, it was a very productive trip.

* * *

 ** _Joor 1002, Vorn 753.56, Stellar Cycle 1349873, Primal Cycle 24_ **

Megatron enjoyed watching the Games during the Festival of Mortilus. The first few rounds always had a few hilariously mismatched bouts, and as the rounds progressed, the fights got more interesting as the truly skilled were concentrated down. Inevitably, there were cross-frame match-ups: grounders, aerials, minibots, and warframes of varying sizes-and at least one deceptively unassuming-looking communications frame-all with different fighting styles and tricks hidden under their plating. It was usually good entertainment, and Megatron looked forward to it every Festival cycle.

And so, of course, a spacebridge _would_ choose the day of the Games to explode.

It had not, thank Mortilus, been sabotage, which had been the concern of the entire Protectorate's chain of command. Investigation had revealed that it had been a glitch in the spacebridge's power matrix, combined with a bit of overdue maintenance, but the fear that it had been something more-and on a Festival day, no less-had had Megatron and his senior staff on edge for most of the morning, until the investigation's final report had been completed.

Still, it was a clusterfrag of a start to the Festival of Mortilus, in Megatron's opinion, and his mood had lightened only slightly by the time he'd arrived at the Arena.

::Glad you could make it, brother.:: The Prime's tone was shaded with glyphs of support and concern, as Megatron landed. Prime had been notified of the heightened security and the reason for it, of course. ::I hope your presence means all is well?::

::As well as can be expected.:: Megatron's strides took him swiftly through the guarded halls. He emerged into the light and noise of the Arena to take his seat on the dais. ::It will be a very bad day for the maintenance division who did not do their jobs, and we will likely need to dispatch emergency aid to the Yoor system to make up for the trade disruption, but that, thankfully, will be your concern, not mine.::

::Indeed. We owe you our gratitude, as always.:: From any other, Megatron would have expected such remarks to be flattery, but he knew Optimus far too well, and the Prime's field was firm support against his side.

::I did little,:: Megatron stated, relaxing minutely as he took his seat with absolutely no fanfare, the Arena's optics on the combatants below. ::The sector commanders and their personnel responded as they should have, and the investigation probably had Jazz's fingers in it somewhere, while Soundwave is on leave.:: He looked out at the Arena, accessing the standings feed and scanning the floor below. ::How is he doing?::

A flicker of something warm and impish sparked through the Prime's field, but it was there and gone before Megatron could focus on it. ::Quite well. He has advanced through the first four rounds and not taken any major injuries that I could detect. I am no expert, but he seems to be more skilled this Festival.::

Megatron's optics picked out Soundwave standing on the Arena floor, he and his next opponent waiting in one of the thirteen rings, their fifth round match about to begin. The number of participants meant that individual bouts would have taken forever, and thus the bouts were done thirteen at a time to speed things up. It made for a chaotic contest, until the final rounds, when the bouts were fought one at a time. Soundwave and his current opponent (a flashy yellow grounder by the name of Sunstreaker, the Arena's infofeed informed him) took up only a fraction of the audience's attention, at the moment.

Soundwave looked at once the same and entirely different than usual. His visor, as heavily customized and tied into his tactical and sensor suites as it was, had long ago been deemed not Festival-compliant, and so he always had to remove it for the Games. It was the only time—barring injury in battle—that Megatron saw Soundwave's face, and he could see why Soundwave chose to wear it. In addition to its enhanced capabilities, it made Soundwave look more...imposing. His facial structure was perfectly pleasant...almost deceptively pleasant, really. It showed very clearly the communication frametype's unassuming administrative origins. Soundwave had proved over and over that he was no simple bitpusher, but Megatron suspected that pulling rank on warframes was easier if he did not look like someone's secretary.

Megatron also suspected that his bared face worked rather in Soundwave's favor in the Arena. Though he had a long Festival history to be looked up by anyone who cared, he still had a tendency to be underestimated by his opponents. Whether that was his face, his frametype, or his tendency to hide his two Festival-regulation energon daggers in their usual hidden compartments so that he looked deceptively unarmed...it was difficult to tell. Possibly all three. Either way, it was a nice bit of psychology that seemed to work every Festival.

::He takes the Games as some sort of personal challenge,:: Megatron replied. ::Trains for it, even. He makes a point to spar often with those more powerful than himself. It has made him a formidable opponent belied by his size and frame.::

::He has certainly caught more than one opponent off-guard,:: Optimus said, his glyphs amused. ::You should look up the fourth round footage, when you have a chance. His bout with Motormaster. It was almost comical. I have never seen a mech so surprised to find himself on the ground.::

Megatron queried the event infofeed, searching and filtering to find Soundwave's matches. Megatron chuckled as he watched the one Optimus referred to. The large, axe-wielding warframe had been hilariously overconfident. Soundwave had looked a bit pained and almost embarrassed at how easily he'd taken the mech down. One sidestep, a kick to the knee, a leap, and his blade to the grounder's neck cables all in less than five kliks.

Soundwave was not the only name he recognized on the Games' contestant list, but he was usually by far the most entertaining to watch. Megatron smirked and sat back in his seat as the next round of bouts began.

The yellow mech was armed with cestuses wrapped around his hands to lend weight and power to his blows. An odd choice of weapon in such a military-flavored event, Megatron thought, until he realized that the mech was likely a gladiator. Indeed, Sunstreaker's biography was short but stated just that: he was an up and coming fighter on the gladiatorial circuit. As he and Soundwave circled each other, it was obvious that they were both used to close-quarters combat, watching each others' stances and looking for an opening. As they closed, it was clear that Soundwave was the faster of the two. Soundwave immediately dodged a handful of blows and turned into others so that they glanced off his armor, seeking to close. But Sunstreaker was no lumbering tankformer, either, and he knew when to retreat enough to made it difficult for Soundwave to claim a "killing" blow. He was also clever enough to catch Soundwave with more than a few punches. His superior strength and the weight of his gloves rocked Soundwave back on his heelspurs when the gladiator advanced, yet he never let himself fall into a predictable rut, his fists seeking solid hits but pulling back before he overextended himself. Soundwave's own advances often found him fending off deft grabs for whatever appendages were flying Sunstreaker's way, and once he even failed, Sunstreaker catching Soundwave's foot, pivoting, and forcing Soundwave to roll into the throw or risk dislocating something. Soundwave landed hard and one energy blade bounced out of the ring. Soundwave only barely managed to disengage in time to avoid the elbow drop aimed at his helm.

Megatron realized that he was leaning forward, gripping the sides of his chair hard enough to make the metal creak. And that Optimus' field was amused next to him. His attention was still caught, though, by Soundwave's recovery. Sunstreaker had committed his weight to the missed elbow drop, and that was a mistake. Soundwave rolled back toward him as Sunstreaker hit the ground, his longer limbs reaching out in a precision grapple that sought to pin the gladiator. It wasn't the best grappling move Megatron had ever seen, but Soundwave managed to keep the gladiator's weighted fists from gaining leverage, and the struggle ended with Soundwave in an ungainly but effective sprawl on top of Sunstreaker, his blade at Sunstreaker's neck.

Megatron did not cheer, though he was dearly tempted. He made a mental note of the gladiator's name. He showed promise, doing as well as he had against a trained special operations agent. Soundwave appeared to have thought the same. He was smiling slightly as he pushed himself to his feet and said something that made the scowling gladiator look thoughtful and nod. Belatedly, the crowd noise swelled, most of its attention on a sword fight between two triple-changers, and Soundwave and Sunstreaker both left the ring, Soundwave heading to the sidelines to wait for the next bout and Sunstreaker toward the medical area for his final check-up.

Megatron sat back and was looking over the rest of the matches when that flare of amusement from his side caught his attention again. ::What?::

::Hmm?::

::Don't play coy with me, Prime, I know you too well.::

::I am merely happy that Soundwave will advance. He certainly deserves it.::

Megatron's optics slid over to look at Optimus suspiciously. The Prime looked much too innocent, apparently engrossed in the bellowing triple-changers in the center of the arena. ::...indeed. I had full confidence in him. His opponent was a mere gladiator, after all. If my spec ops adviser had lost to such a mech, I would have wanted to know why.::

::Of course.::

Megatron's optics narrowed, but Optimus said nothing more, and on the Arena floor below them, the Games continued on.

* * *

 ** _Joor 1811, Vorn 753.56, Stellar Cycle 1349873, Primal Cycle 24_ **

_"Hail the Death-bringer, he who grants peace and the final comfort."_

The Games of the Festival of Mortilus consisted of thirteen rounds of fighting, with the losers of each bout eliminated and the winners going on to fight each other in the next round. Anyone could enter, and many did. There was no entry fee, and the best medics on Cybertron were there to give medical aid to anyone who was wounded after they were eliminated. Though it was possible to be permanently disabled or even killed during the Games, it was considered a bad omen and all contestants sought to avoid doing their opponent permanent harm. Therefore, many mechs joined the Games, and that meant that the first few rounds took forever, given the number of participants. The first two rounds were held outside the Arena, hundreds of bouts occurring at once simply to cut down on the time required of all involved. For the third round, the Games moved to the Arena, where they fought thirteen bouts at a time to the end of each round. This continued until the tenth round, when the 16 remaining competitors fought through each round's bouts in sequence. Each participant could expect a maximum of thirteen rounds of fighting over the mandated one cycle, everyone starting on one tank of ritually-prepared energon with no fuel or medical attention until they were eliminated or conceded. It was grueling and was meant to be. Mortilus appreciated strength and sacrifice.

 _"He who guards the gate to the Well Everlasting, the portal through which all sparks must pass."_

Even for those not fighting, it was a long cycle. Megatron imagined that the Games were easier to appreciate if one was not actually present. Merely checking the vidfeeds for the standings and watching the highlights of the more exciting match-ups rather than attempting to watch it all in real time would certainly be more efficient. The Prime and the Lord High Protector, however, had no such luxury. They were expected to oversee the festivities and give a short blessing before the start of each round.

 _"You combatants, strong in frame, and spark, honor the power in your components, a shadow of the Death-dealer's might."_

Mortilus' was the only Festival (or any event at all, really) at which the Lord High Protector was expected to bless anyone or anything, and Megatron was never particularly comfortable doing it. Still, he had been more invested in it since Soundwave had begun fighting in the Games. Megatron was not a terribly religious mech, despite everything the priests had tried to convince him of. He rather doubted that any god truly cared who won the Games, much less that Mortilus would or could sway the outcome because the Lord High Protector had said a few trite words. Still, as the rounds wore on and Soundwave remained victorious, Megatron made a point of catching his aide's optic whenever it was his turn to give the blessing for the round.

 _"Wield your weapons in his name, strong of spark, so that his blessing will fall upon us all."_

Soundwave's optics always held Megatron's own. And he kept winning, no matter the size, strength, or skill of his opponent.

Megatron had no illusions that one of these things caused the other. However, he was happy for Soundwave. His aide worked hard and asked for little. Such devotion deserved recognition and reward.

 _"Strength, skill, courage, and sacrifice, 'til all are one!"_

Megatron was not the only one who noticed Soundwave's success. By the eighth round, the Games' newsfeed was commenting on his performance, as a communications model among the narrowing, warframe-heavy field.

By the tenth round, some of the audience appeared to be specifically rooting for him, a pronounced hush falling as Soundwave and another spec ops agent, Arcee, entered the main ring.

Megatron's comm pinged him with an incoming transmission. ::Hundred shanix on Arcee. You in? Yes/no?::

::Jazz. I did not know you _had_ my personal comm frequency.::

::Heh,:: Jazz said, his glyphs unrepentant. ::Figured this is about the only time we'll see these two go at it. I think Soundwave's met his match. Whaddaya say?::

Megatron narrowed his optics. ::Soundwave has dealt with Arcee's type before under much more trying circumstances. I'll take your wager.::

::Awesome.::

Arcee was a skilled opponent-one of Prowl's and Jazz's best assassins, if Megatron was not mistaken-and Soundwave was on the defensive from the start. Arcee, for her part, started off confident and grinning, her lips moving as they made their first few passes in what Megatron only guessed was an attempt to distract Soundwave. As the match went on, though, and Soundwave picked up the pace, Arcee's grin faltered, then returned with what looked to be glee as she matched him. The audience's hush held a tinge of awe as the two combatants moved almost faster than the optic could trace, particularly when there were four knives to keep track of. The two chased each other from one end of the ring to the other, slashing, dodging, feinting, retreating.

It was the best demonstration of knife fighting that Megatron had ever seen, on or off the battlefield.

The end of the fight, much like in actual battle, was abrupt: Arcee, in watching Soundwave's hands and launching her own attack, missed the shift of Soundwave's weight that allowed his pede to lash out and catch her leg, buckling it. She fell to one knee, her knives missed their mark, and then there was a flurry of limbs so fast that the newsfeed later ran the replay in slow motion so everyone could see Soundwave closing, Arcee slashing out at Soundwave's knee, Soundwave leaping over the strike, Arcee headbutting Soundwave right in the interface panel, Soundwave kneeing her in the chin and snapping back her helm, and finally, in her klik of disorientation, getting his knife to her throat.

::Aw, dang,:: Jazz sent. ::I'm gonna have to offer Soundwave a job again. Seriously, what're you putting in that mech's energon?::

Megatron smiled and didn't reply.

The officials signaled Soundwave the winner, and the audience cheered, approving. Arcee's frame sagged a moment, lips moving in a very easy-to-read curse before she stood, grin back in place as she tipped a salute to Soundwave and walked (limping slightly) out of the ring.

Soundwave, Megatron noticed, moved very slowly out of the ring as well. A forehelm to the interface panel would do that to a mech.

The Prime's comm was ripe with amusement. ::I believe I'll have to watch the replay to see exactly what happened there.::

::Street fighting, essentially,:: Megatron sent back. ::Not the most elegant of techniques, but effective.::

::I would expect nothing less from someone trained by Jazz.:: The Prime's optics turned his way. ::And yet, Arcee is not the one moving forward. Do you think he will win this time?::

Megatron accessed the event feed. Soundwave's next opponent would be a large warframe named Warpath, who looked cheerful but visibly injured. ::It is certainly possible. He is considerably less injured than last time. And his skills have improved, as you have seen..:: Megatron shrugged slightly, smiling. ::If you tell anyone else this I shall deny it, but he has even beaten me, once or twice, when we sparred.::

::Impressive indeed. I can see why you are fond of him.::

The particular connotations of the glyphs Optimus used made Megatron turn to him in surprise. ::'Fond' of him?::

The Prime's expression did not change from its camera-ready serene interest, but that impish cast was back to his field. ::Are you not fond of him, then?::

::'Fond' with _that_ ridiculous connotation is not the right word. He is an advisor and a valued subordinate. My feelings for him are strictly professional.::

::Well, I apologize if I've misconstrued anything.::

The subject was dropped as Prime rose to give the blessing for the next round, but Soundwave had now been brought up twice, and thus Megatron was unsurprised when he was brought up again, shortly after Soundwave soundly defeated the injured Warpath in record time and headed to the waiting area for the next round. A triple-changer named Blitzwing that Megatron vaguely recognized and one of Optimus' top lieutenants, Ultra Magnus, took their places.

::It's just that you mention him often.::

Megatron had to restrain himself from scowling. _Cameras,_ a voice in the back of his meta that sounded much like Writ's said, _Cameras..._ ::What do you...I do not!::

::You mention him much more often than any others who advise and assist you.::

::...do I?::

::You do.::

Megatron thought about that for a long moment. He supposed that Optimus was right. ::He is one of my finest staff and an admirable mech. I wish I had a legion like him. It is only sensible that I mention him occasionally. Is there something wrong with that?::

::Nothing at all. I admit that I've wondered if you harbor affection for him.::

Megatron turned his helm to stare, cameras be damned. ::Are you honestly suggesting that I might harbor inappropriate feelings for one under my command?::

Reassurance lapped at his field and was embedded in the glyphs of Optimus' reply. ::Inappropriate, no. Feelings, perhaps.::

Something that Megatron decided was "unease" curled around his spark. A few stray thoughts, a mere handful over the many vorns, came to mind. Fleeting fancies, often entertained-briefly, always briefly-out of fatigue and loneliness. ::And what do you mean by that?::

::That you speak of him often, by your own admission admire him, and find him good company.::

::What you describe is professional regard, brother, not romance.::

::I said nothing about romance, but interesting that you should bring it up...::

Megatron huffed. Was _that_ what this was about? Prime attempting to matchmake? ::Now you are just being ridiculous. He is an intelligent mech who does good work, yes, who goes above and beyond the call of duty, yes, who has saved my life several times, yes, but that does not-::

Optimus' neck cables stretched as he looked over toward the competitors' waiting area. ::And who is quite handsome under that mask, if I am any judge.::

Megatron just stared at him and vented a sigh. ::-you are a moron.::

::Then you disagree?::

::No, I do not, but that has no bearing on this conversation.::

::Of course not.::

Megatron reminded himself that throttling the Prime at one of the most public and highly broadcasted events of the Festival cycle would be highly inadvisable, if incredibly satisfying. ::...I'm sorry, do you have a _point_ , here, Prime? Because if I did not know better I would think that you were encouraging something highly inappropriate. I believe that they call it abuse of authority?::

Prime's serene smile didn't budge. ::We have authority over every Cybertronian, brother. Yet I can't believe that Primus would create us to never know the love of any save each other. There is nothing wrong with fondness and affection. Or romance, for that matter. Though we hold esteemed titles, we are both mere mechs beneath, and all mecha deserve love.::

::I am sure that there are esteemed members of the priesthood and the Senate who would heartily disagree. And I am sorry to inform you that I do not love Soundwave.::

::Perhaps not. But he is important to you. Professionally, yes, but beyond that, also.:: Optimus looked over at him, and Megatron found that he could find no rebuttal that would not be a lie.

Their discussion was interrupted by the crowd's roar of approval as Ultra Magnus finally defeated Blitzwing through the simple expedient of turning his grapple into a lift and slamming the triple-changer into the floor, face first.

"Hmm," Megatron said, internally eyeing the infofeed. Soundwave versus Ultra Magnus was quite a mismatched pairing. Powerful hand-to-hand vs. lithe speed...they were each other's weakness.

::Shall we make a friendly wager?:: Optimus asked, as he stood to give the blessing for the 12th round. ::Your aide versus mine?::

::Of course. I feel the honor of the Protectorate requires it.::

::Of course. I am sure that the Protectorate's-and the Primacy's-honors are in capable hands.::

Megatron watched Soundwave as Optimus' deep voice projected out over the Arena. His aide was the smallest mech entering into the semi-final round by a good margin. He looked practically petite, standing between one of Megatron's up-and-coming officers, Onslaught, and a heavily-armored blue femme that Megatron did not recognize but which the infofeed informed him was named Chromia.

Halfway through Optimus' blessing, Megatron saw Soundwave's optics shift to meet Megatron's own. And despite the Arena around them, despite the Games, despite the tens of thousands of mechs watching the pageant on the Arena floor, Megatron saw Soundwave's stance relax, just a bit, as his optics found Megatron's looking back at him.

 _Odd_ , Megatron thought. Still, it was...touching...to have his support be a comfort to Soundwave. Idly, Megatron stretched the fingers of his left hand, as if easing tension in the joints. As Soundwave's gaze turned to the movement, Megatron turned his hand, fingers together and vertical, and eased his wrist back and then forward. The stretching of an aching joint, perhaps, but it was also one of the scouts' hand signs for "move forward."

Soundwave's optics flicked back up to his, the slightest of smiles on his face.

Megatron completely blamed Optimus for the thought that yes, Soundwave was handsome under that mask. Megatron suspected that he'd noticed this before, in some of the twelve previous Games that Soundwave had fought in. He absolutely laid the blame for remembering this at his Prime's feet.

As Optimus retook his seat, an electric charge of excitement snapped through the air of the Arena. The 12th and 13th rounds of the Games were obviously the most-anticipated, and the audience hummed like a charging capacitor as the first pair of semifinalists took their places in the main ring in front of the dyad's box.

Megatron found himself assessing Onslaught and Chromia's performances with interest. Onslaught was a canny strategist and a dangerous opponent beyond his mere strength and skill with the sword. Chromia appeared to be a much more straightforward mechanism, a blend of speed and strength that had served her well in the previous rounds. Her mastery of the spear had also extended her reach and confused many of her opponents, who had obviously never faced such an uncommon weapon.

Onslaught, however, either had experience with the spear or had worked out one of the better ways to counter it. He dodged Chromia's thrusts and crowded her as much as possible to keep her from thrusting again while attempting to find an opening for his blade. Chromia used the haft of her spear to defend and launched several admirable counterattacks, including, notably, slamming the butt of her spear into Onslaught's face and following it with a kick to the knee which nearly laid Onslaught out and would have made her the winner if he had not recovered and grabbed the haft of her spear. The struggle over the weapon that ensued had half the audience on the edges of their seats, with Onslaught attempting to stab while Chromia punched and kicked. Eventually, Chromia abandoned punching for attempting to control Onslaught's sword, and, each with one hand on the other's weapon, they fought for advantage.

The only thing that broke their stalemate was Onslaught's knee giving out. The sudden shift of vectors when he fell to one knee jostled Chromia's hold on his sword, and he wrenched it free, stabbing cleanly into her torso.

"Ah, frag," the femme said into the shocked silence, staring down at her energon starting to flow over Onslaught's blade. She sighed as the officials called the match, then saluted Onslaught as the medics rushed in to extract the sword from her internals.

Megatron's optics slid over to where Soundwave and Ultra Magnus waited. They both had watched the match with great interest, and Onslaught watched them both with similar interest as he took his place in the waiting area.

Once Soundwave and Ultra Magnus had taken their places in the ring, they were close enough that Megatron's audials could just pick out the rumble of Ultra Magnus' words over the cheers of the crowd: "Good luck to you, major." He smiled with every evidence of honesty and raised his fist to his chest in salute.

Soundwave nodded and saluted back, his voice of a frequency more easily lost in the ambient noise, but his lips easily read: "Good luck to you as well, general."

The officiant priests of Mortilus took their places again, and the round began.

Soundwave and Ultra Magnus were both too smart to rush in, and so they circled, each eyeing the other for signs of weakness or injury. Soundwave had avoided major injury except for whatever damage to his shoulder Sunstreaker's throw had caused back in the fifth round. Ultra Magnus, with his hand-to-hand specialty and the ability to rely more on his heavy armor, had taken considerably more hard hits, yet he had shown no evidence of slowing down that Megatron had seen.

Soundwave seemed justifiably cautious as the two tested each other's defenses. He was certainly the faster of the two, but Ultra Magnus had just piledriven a triplechanger into a forced reboot. A miscalculation on Soundwave's part could swiftly mean a similar fate. And Ultra Magnus was not like some of the other warbuilds Soundwave had fought, overconfident or impatient or prone to underestimating a smaller opponent.

::You are denting your chair again, brother.::

Megatron pointedly lifted his fingers from the indentations they had pressed into his seat's armrests. ::I am merely concerned for Ultra Magnus' well-being.::

An audible puff of a ventilation mirrored the laughter in Optimus' glyphs, ::I am certain he would appreciate your concern.::

Their attention swiftly returned to the ring, however, as the two combatants finally traded feints for actual committed strikes. Soundwave dodged Ultra Magnus' first blow, his dagger swinging into the opening it left like a scrapviper. Ultra Magnus sucked in his plating and backpedaled with a slightly alarmed expression that Megatron could sympathize with. As a warbuild, fighting Soundwave was often like fighting a seeker in flight: their definitions of "fast" were vastly different.

Soundwave allowed Magnus to retreat but swiftly advanced again, before Magnus could solidify his footing. His dagger swung out once, again, and Ultra Magnus retreated. Finally, lulled by Soundwave's rhythm, he set his stance and reached out to intercept, blocking Soundwave's vambrace with his own to turn the strike aside while he punched forward into the opening he'd created.

Megatron had to wonder if perhaps Ultra Magnus had forgotten that Soundwave had two energon knives, because he looked genuinely surprised when Soundwave's second dagger suddenly appeared to stab precisely between the plates guarding Ultra Magnus' wrist assembly. Ultra Magnus hissed in pain, his hand spasming as he jerked it back, but his blocking hand was still free, and he moved to grab Soundwave's wrist.

A thread of unease worked its way through Megatron's spark as he saw Soundwave shift. Megatron had seen it a thousand times: Soundwave would sidestep, would pirouette into a turn, would use the momentum of that turn to swing a dagger around to slide into the mech's seams as he came back around. He did it as naturally as ventilation, especially with larger, less-maneuverable opponents.

He'd done it to Motormaster. He'd done it to Warpath.

Megatron shook his head even as Soundwave started to turn, as he saw Ultra Magnus moving to counter. As Soundwave turned, so did Ultra Magnus, with a bit of deft footwork that was impressive, given his bulk. By the time Soundwave had finished his turn, Ultra Magnus was facing him, hands up and ready. The still-spasming one deflected Soundwave's stab, and the other completed the move he had attempted earlier, reaching in to grab Soundwave's collar fairing. Soundwave's second knife was not in position, and he tried to twist away. He'd been surprised, though, and was not fast enough. Ultra Magnus' fingers gripped hard and _lifted_...

::Oh, dear.:: Optimus' comm contained the glyphic equivalent of a wince.

Soundwave's shoulder, followed by the rest of him hit the ground with a shuddering crunch, so hard that he _bounced_. His momentum rolled him on one shoulder, his frame slumping strutlessly onto his back, dented and optics dark.

The crowd's cries were a descending "ooohhhhh..." that mirrored Megatron's own disappointment. Megatron shook his head. ::He allowed himself to become complacent. Predictable. Such will work on grunts and gladiators, but he should have known that a general would have studied his performance today and learned his moves.::

Ultra Magnus' hand started to come down, reaching for Soundwave's neck, for a submission hold. Megatron saw Soundwave's optics flicker, then light in seeming slow motion, looking right at him.

"Move," Megatron whispered.

A microklik, and then Soundwave's optics flared and shifted to look toward Ultra Magnus without tilting his helm. Then, Soundwave moved.

When Ultra Magnus' fingers were a mere handspan from him, Soundwave's leg snapped up, his pede catching Ultra Magnus in the chin. It then came down hard on the reaching arm, his leg hitting right in the elbow joint. The joint bent at the pressure, Ultra Magnus' hand missing its mark. Then, his entire frame unbalanced as Soundwave held onto the general's arm with nothing but the crook of his bent knee, using the point of contact as a pivot to heave himself up off the floor and transfer the entirety of his weight onto Ultra Magnus' arm. Soundwave folded his frame, continuing the movement, launching himself up to grab a helm finial and jam the heel of his hand firmly up under Ultra Magnus' jaw hard enough to rock his helm back, back, further back. Ultra Magnus' frame wobbled at the precarious position, the unaccustomed weight, and probably his inability to see his opponent. His free hand flailed for balance, and then the judges' signals sounded, Soundwave's hands judged to have enough control of Ultra Magnus' helm to be lethal.

The crowd roared in approval of their second finalist. Megatron released a ventilation that he didn't realize he'd been holding.

::Did he do that on purpose?:: Optimus asked.

::I...doubt it. Letting Magnus get ahold of him would have been a ridiculously stupid move he couldn't predict the outcome of. No, he...improvised.::

::Impressively so.::

::Indeed. Especially since improvisation is not particularly his strength.::

The crowd cheered as the announcer called Soundwave's name as the winner. Soundwave ignored them, instead turning to look at the dyad's dais.

Even across that distance, Megatron could feel Soundwave's optics on him, as if they were the only two mechs in the vast hall. Megatron smiled slightly and nodded. Soundwave's helm dipped slightly as well. Dented, wounded, his optics still held a steely resolve.

Some of Megatron's response to that look must have leaked into his field. Optimus' own field was amused again.

Megatron sighed. ::You are not wrong, Prime. But we do not live in a romance vid. I am fond of him, as a friend, and value him as an advisor. However...interested I might be in anything more, I would never let him know of it. I would not want him to feel pressured by my status or his own position as my subordinate. Merely the asking would destroy the working relationship we have, whatever his answer was, and I would not give up his service for anything.::

::I understand.:: Optimus reached over, his fingers lying over Megatron's wrist, their fields mingling in familiar comfort. ::I merely wish for you to be happy. Ours is a unique position, with unique challenges...but we need not bear it alone.::

Onslaught moved to stand next to Soundwave in the ring. The lighting shifted for this, the final round, leaving the combatants in a radiant pool. The light gleamed in the fresh scratches on Soundwave's and Onslaught's finishes.

::I do not bear it alone,:: Megatron said, his field pressing against his infuriating brother's. ::I have you, you overgrown caretaker.::

Optimus smiled at him and, with a final pulse of warmth, pulled back his hand and tilted his head toward the Arena and the combatants awaiting the Lord High Protector's blessing. ::It is your turn.::

Megatron stood. ::I know.::

* * *

 ** _Joor 2355, Vorn 753.56, Stellar Cycle 1349873, Primal Cycle 24_ **

Activity swirled in front of Soundwave as first the cleaners and then the priests of Mortilus moved in with clockwork precision to ritually cleanse the ring, but Soundwave saw little of it. His attention was instead focused on his internal status and damage reports. Most of the damage from Ultra Magnus' throw had been bloody but cosmetic, however there were a few plates in his shoulder that had been crushed into their own seams and were pressing on his lines, compromising both hydraulics and power flow. Soundwave was no medic, but he knew enough first aid to attempt to bend the plates back into something resembling their proper alignment. The process was not pleasant, but he had no other choice. Medics were for either the Champion or the disqualified, and he was neither, yet.

His shoulder, however, was the least of his worries. He felt...odd.

He knew what it was like to fight in the Games, and this time it it had been easy to move from one match to the other, to simply fight, as others were fighting. It was like sparring, with an annoyingly large and vocal audience. But his progression had been different this time, even compared to his own personal best in the previous Festival. Then, he had made it to the tenth round with his tanks nearly empty and one leg all but disabled from an injury in the ninth. He had held little hope of advancing and had been defeated quite swiftly by his opponent.

This time was different.

He'd been lucky, for one. The vagaries of physics and his opponents had offered him opportunities to quickly find pressure points and openings in their defenses. Since the Festival rules stated that the competitors had to fight for all thirteen rounds on one tank of fuel, Soundwave's good luck had proven why defeating one's opponents quickly was an advantage: he had plenty of fuel for the final fight. This was not always a given. More than one Festival's Champion had been decided simply by the mech outlasting his or her opponent.

Still...energon levels aside, something was different.

Soundwave felt...strong. Unlike his other experiences in the Games, his performance had defied weariness and distraction as he had progressed. Now, ready to enter the thirteenth round, his focus was still high, his response times some of his personal best. Fatigue and even the pain of his injuries were less than he would have expected.

Soundwave was honestly a bit worried that someone had spiked his ritual energon with something. If so, it felt like no drug he knew. The increased energy and pain resistance made him think of circuit speeders, but Soundwave knew what those felt like. His processor was too clear. His movements too controlled. The sense of well-being too...grounded. And it was not a drugged feeling-if anything he felt _sharper_ than usual-but it was...unexpected after twelve rounds of combat.

He had no time to worry, however. The priests' ablutions were completed, and Lord Megatron had stood, his voice booming through the silent Arena:

" _Destroyer, Death-Bringer, Opener of the Well of Sparks, hear me! Lend us your power, your blade and your hammer, your shield and your undeniable force. During this, your Festival, we offer you our weakness, our mortality, our sparks, and our devotion._ "

Soundwave knew that it was merely the Arena's lighting focused on the Lord High Protector, but even knowing that, Megatron glowed. Megatron's gaze shifted, his optics meeting Soundwave's across the distance between dais and Arena floor. " _And these, your favored, offer you their energon, their strength, and their determination. As all must struggle, so do they. One must rise, one must fall. 'Til all are one!_ "

There was a pressure against Soundwave's spark, like an emotion he'd never felt before. The sense of pushing came, he realized, not from outside his spark, but from within. It should have felt alarming, but it was painless, effortless, and as his attention on Megatron's words slipped, the feeling dissolved, like oil in energon, expanding outward, until Soundwave could feel it in every molecule of his frame. It hit his spark and flared, multiplying like a laser beam fired into a Praxian crystal.

Soundwave felt, for one terrifying moment, that he might short out on the spot, that whatever this malfunction was would kill him outright. But instead, as the crowd's roar resolved into sound again, the power surge sublimated, settling into his lines.

And suddenly it was as if the energon in his frame had become high grade, potent and Core-pure. The remaining pain in his shoulder faded. The errors on his HUD became meaningless, trivial. His processor cleared as the world fell away.

For one, eternal moment, there was nothing but himself and his Lord, and Soundwave's doubts-about himself, about his motives, about his ability to win and obtain his goal (through General Onslaught's frame, if necessary) evaporated.

He felt his arm raising, in the traditional finalists' salute to the Prime and Protector. Then Soundwave turned to face Onslaught across the ring, and his focus came to a monomolecular point. He no longer heard the roaring crowd, no longer felt the optics of the audience, of his Lord, of his Prime. He only saw his opponent: his stance, his grip on his weapon, his expression, the very positioning of his plating as he started to move.

Slowly. The general was moving _so slowly_. It was as if Soundwave was watching a vid at half speed and had all the time in the world to observe and analyze his opponent.

All the time in the world to see the slight hitch to his step ( _hit taken to right knee joint in second round, Onslaught had grunted but he'd moved through it and fought on it and now it was leaking ever so slightly, energon limning the plating edges_ ), to see/hear the slight shuddering grind as his right arm swung forward ( _awkward block against Sunstar's hammer in the tenth round, followed by twist that pulled the joint 13% out of optimum range, resulting in probable pain, joint distension, and possibly distortion of the rotor cuff_ ), see the half-wary, half-smug look in his optics ( _he sees little threat, overconfident, recognizes my speed but expects to weather a critical strike through the difficulty in getting a blade into his hardened joint construction_ ).

The knee. The shoulder. The confidence, born from the belief that Soundwave was nothing he'd not seen before.

Soundwave's processor took in the facts, the variables, the uncertainties, spun them through the algorithm of his experience at lightning speed, and presented him with a path. One path. One incredibly reckless plan…and the recklessness was the key. Onslaught was a gifted strategist, and he would have observed Soundwave's own style injury. He would be anticipating Soundwave's usual cool, calculated moves and plotting his own countermeasures. Soundwave's best strategy would be to break style, to do something utterly, incredibly out of character...

Soundwave saw an opening. He had a plan. Disastrously simple. And to follow it, he had to move.

He had to move _now_.

Soundwave moved, running straight for Onslaught.

Fast. Faster. _Faster._

Onslaught saw him coming, of course. He looked surprised that Soundwave would be that aggressive, would want to engage a significantly larger opponent in close quarters, but not worried. He merely strode forward himself, gamely moving to meet Soundwave with a smirk on his face. He raised his right arm ( _griiind_ ), hefting his warhammer into striking position even as his right foot came down, leg extended, knee braced.

Soundwave leapt. Not at Onslaught, as Soundwave had no target yet. And not over him, as Soundwave had done with several other opponents and which Onslaught obviously expected, as his warhammer's swing was angled high to try to catch Soundwave as he sailed over.

Instead, Soundwave checked himself hard, sacrificing his forward momentum, avoiding the high swing, and leaping straight up.

The hammer whistled past him, going high and to his side, Onslaught's body now twisted with the force of the blow, leaving Soundwave a narrow but clear gravity-path to drop his feet, with his entire weight behind them, on Onslaught's right knee.

The knee gave with a sickening, grinding _crunch_ , and Onslaught's cry was of surprise more than pain. Onslaught's leg crumpled as the joint was distended, wobbling Soundwave's perch, but Soundwave was already moving, his free hand latching onto Onslaught's right shoulder, using it as a pivot to swing his entire weight around, dragging the joint out toward the damaged rotor cuff.

Onslaught gritted out a sound of pain again, and that close, Soundwave's momentum bringing him around to crash into Onslaught's back, Soundwave could feel the creak and roar of Onslaught's warframe build terminating the momentum of the hammerswing, gathering power to move, to get his bad knee back under him, to get a grip on Soundwave, to tear him away from his damaged components.

Soundwave fought gravity as he latched onto Onslaught's back, feet scrabbling for purchase on Onslaught's backplates to hitch him up the crucial distance he needed as his right hand ground down hard on Onslaught's injured shoulder joint. Onslaught's head turned toward the pain as he hissed, "Glitch!", grabbing Soundwave's hand on his shoulder and beginning to crush it.

And Soundwave's left hand continued its arc around Onslaught's back, Soundwave's smallest, thinnest energy blade coming to rest a millimechanometer from the cables exposed by Onslaught's turned head. Close enough that Onslaught could feel the heat and froze.

"Yield," Soundwave said.

Onslaught growled, hand tightening on his warhammer, hand tightening around Soundwave's damaged hand in a flare of pain.

Soundwave pressed the blade closer, until he could hear the bubbling hiss of fluids from a micro-sliced cable evaporating on the blade. "Yield."

Silence, except for the sound of Onslaught's frame, still chugging in overdrive in expectation of a fight that had taken less than a klik.

Onslaught huffed a laugh that sounded wet, more fluids spattering on Soundwave's blade. "Spec ops," he muttered ruefully.

His hammer hit the floor of the arena with a dull clang that Soundwave could feel through Onslaught's struts.

Soundwave's timeless moment of clarity shattered. His processor hitched, threw up a slew of confused errors related to thread handling and overloaded queues and promptly dropped into debug mode, chugging sluggishly as it tried to determine what had just happened.

The vid sped up before Soundwave's optics, and suddenly everything _but_ Soundwave was moving too fast.

The roar of the crowd was an almost physical, dizzying force, and Soundwave lost himself for a long moment, frame aching and trembling. Which no doubt made Onslaught nervous. "...uh…you plan on putting that away?"

The energy blade was still at his neck cables. Onslaught was still holding Soundwave's hand against his shoulder, too, but that was because he had, quite rightly, deduced that with Soundwave's weight perched on his back as it was, letting go of Soundwave's hand would jolt the hissing blade at his conduits. He held on to keep Soundwave's awkward, painful balance.

"...Apologies," Soundwave said, cutting the blade's power and taking stock of where all his limbs had ended up. Carefully, he climbed down from Onslaught's back, holding on a moment longer than necessary as the ground attempted to seesaw under him.

Onslaught watched him curiously over his shoulder, then huffed and shook his helm. "You're spent. If I'd caught you first, I'd have won."

"Agreed," Soundwave said. Onslaught picked up his hammer and used it to push himself up on his good leg. Soundwave tilted his helm up to meet the warframe's optics. "But you did not."

"Underestimated you," Onslaught said, over the crowd, cocking his head at Soundwave with calculating optics. "Didn't know you could move that fast. You were holding out."

He hadn't been, but since Soundwave had no explanation for where that sudden, spark-pulsing jolt of energy had come from or gone, he had no better explanation. And silence, he knew, covered a lot of confusion.

Onslaught shrugged. "Good match. Whatever you're after, you definitely want it more than I do."

Soundwave, processor still reeling from its abrupt slowdown, just stared for a klik before Megatron's voice announced, "Winner, by surrender, Soundwave!"

Then there were other mechs there, white and red medics, and Onslaught gave Soundwave a casual salute before being whisked away to have knee, shoulder, and pinprick-perforated lines tended to. A wash of scans flashed over Soundwave's sensors and a gruff medic eyed him suspiciously. "Your processor is debugging."

Soundwave just nodded. "Calculations for match…pushed edge of specifications." It was the best he could come up with.

The medic looked doubtful, but his scans apparently came up with nothing better, either. "Hmph. Well, if it starts looping or comes up with any irreconcilable errors, let someone know. Hold out your arm."

Soundwave did, and the medic held his elbow joint with one hand while tugging sharply with the other. Soundwave invented sharply as something in his shoulder popped back into alignment and a handful of errors and some of the pain went away.

"Your hand will need rebuilding later. Don't want to delay you now, but contact me, and I'll take care of it." The medic pinged him contact information (Ratchet, Director of Trauma Surgery, Iacon Medical Complex) as he bound together Soundwave's fingers with a meshweave and gave him an injection so deftly that Soundwave almost missed it. His pain sensors quieted. "That should get you through the rest of the circus today, at least. Hope I don't need to tell you not to stress the hand? Good. Now go. They're waiting for you."

Soundwave turned, only slightly unsteadily, and saw that they were.

The Guard had lined up behind him in a double-file, forming an aisle leading right up to the stairs of the little stage at the front of the Arena. Above that, on the dais, Optimus Prime and Lord Megatron waited.

The audience, sensing more drama, rose to cheer again, and Soundwave filtered them out. It was distracting and not a little disconcerting.

Instead, he focused on his goal.

Megatron was smiling, and Soundwave found himself glad that though the energy and laser-focus had left, some of the well-being had remained. The fighting was over, but that had certainly not been the hardest part of this plan.

Soundwave started the long walk toward his Prime and Lord High Protector.

* * *

 ** _Joor 0003, Vorn 753.57, Stellar Cycle 1349873, Primal Cycle 24_ **

The Prime's congratulatory speech was not that different than in previous years, though his smile seemed more genuine. Then, once the crowd's cheering had died down, he began the ritual questions about the Champion's prize.

There were dozens of boons that the Festival Champions could claim. Many had been added for various political or theological reasons over the stellar cycles. Some—the cash prize, the profession-based prizes such as a commission in the Protectorate or Primal Guard, or the full-frame reformat—were obviously more valuable than others in the modern era, and most Champions took one of those. In the past million vorn, to save time, the Prime had begun offering those first, lest everyone have to stand and listen to the Champion decline some of the more esoteric traditional prizes (for instance, one of the original boons had been freedom from bondage, which was a state that no longer existed, legally.)

Soundwave had participated in and observed enough Festivals to know the usual order. Which was why he knew he'd be standing there saying, "Soundwave, declines" for quite awhile.

The crowd's interest grew as Soundwave's declinations continued. Quite a few winners took the money or the military position. A handful of others chose the reformat and reclassification, especially if they were not warframes to begin with but had some how made it through the Games. Refusing those offers brought out the more esoteric rewards, linked to ancient religious rites. They were rarely invoked and thus more interesting to the audience, and as the buzz of speculation grew, he found doubt creeping into his spark.

Did he really want to do this? There were so many ways this could end in disaster, and even if it didn't, nothing would ever be the same. What if...?

"Do you, Soundwave, claim the Right of Courtship?"

He could decline it. He could let the choice pass, claim something further down the list (acceptance into the Primal Academy was next, which would not be a horrible choice.)

He shrank from the thought. No. There was only one position that he wanted more than the one he already had. Only one place he would rather be.

Soundwave looked at Megatron.

The Lord High Protector was already watching him. His optics were as curious as the crowd's, his stance relaxed, as if they were standing in his office, or in the field.

Soundwave's vocalizer froze. This was the _Lord High Protector_. What was he doing? How could he….?

The silence hung, awkwardly. "Soundwave?" The Prime prompted softly, as if Soundwave had forgotten his lines.

Soundwave's spark pulsed oddly, a shadow of the surge during the final round, something in Megatron's optics sparking a memory file, a snatch of conversation from some campaign somewhere. Megatron, not nearly as shiny and relaxed, gazing at the tactical display, at the glowing markers that represented entire ships, platoons, and squads, arguing with his tacticians. "Would you have us retreat simply because we lost our nerve?"

 _No,_ Soundwave thought. _I am not a coward. Foolish, perhaps…but not a coward._

Soundwave realized, all of a sudden, that the medic's ping meant he'd had his comms turned back on. The encryptions for the Lord High Protector's private frequency had already changed, though, while Soundwave had been out of the loop, and there was no way that Soundwave was going to comm Megatron about this over an open frequency.

Soundwave's pregnant silence had Megatron's attention, his helm tilting slightly in inquiry.

Soundwave's left hand stretched, catching the Protector's optics, his fingers flicking carefully, minutely, in the bastardized hand speech known to every scout who'd ever had to communicate in silence during a comm blackout: -Accept/agree?-

Soundwave had never seen Megatron so surprised in his entire function. His optics widened, staring at Soundwave for an excruciatingly long moment before his own fingers moved: two fingers stretched to Soundwave, then pulled back in, then his hand tilted slightly: -Us/together interrogative?-

The crowd murmured, restless at the pause and unsure of what exactly was happening. Evidently no one who knew scout's hand could see clearly, though, as they sounded more confused than anything. It would not be long, however.

Soundwave's fingers extended, pulled back, fisted. -Us/together correct.-

The Prime was watching, too, optics flicking between the two of them. Soundwave ignored him. He couldn't spare the processing power, because Megatron shifted and, for what felt like the first time, really _looked_ at Soundwave. The force of his full attention was more than intimidating. Soundwave had faced his own death countless times, but this, the Lord High Protector's consideration of him in the most personal way possible, made his plating tremble and his spark ache for a long, eternal klik.

Then, a smile creeping back onto his lips, Megatron nodded ever so slightly, and Soundwave nearly forgot that he was supposed to reply.

"Yes. Soundwave, claims the Right of Courtship."

The crowd's babble rose in excitement. They might not know exactly what was to come, but they knew that Courtships always made for the best drama.

"Whom do you Choose, Soundwave?" The Prime sounded like he was smiling, but Soundwave couldn't take his eyes from his Lord's.

"Soundwave, Chooses Lord High Protector Megatron."

Ah, and _now_ the crowd exploded, the noise deafening. Some of it was surprise, some of it was excitement, some of it was laughter, and some of the closest, from the Senators' boxes, was outrage, but none of that mattered.

The Prime was _definitely_ smiling. And rather pointedly raising his powerful voice to override the crowd's din. "And what is the Chosen's reply?"

The Arena went dead silent, like a cable being cut.

* * *

::Writ,:: Megatron commed, optics never leaving Soundwave's.

Though Writ was who knew where at the moment, the reply was immediate, as usual. ::Yes, my Lord?::

::I want you to identify all administrative, political, or ethical objections to a Courtship with Soundwave and neutralize them. Immediately.::

::Searches for precedence are already underway, my Lord. I will need your authorization on some documents, my Lord.::

::Send them when ready. Shunt any possible theological issues to the Prime himself. He can deal with that mess.::

::Yes, my Lord.:: The forms arrived in Megatron's queue with lightning speed. He didn't even read them, opening them only to attach his authorization before sending them back.

::It would also be convenient if any formal objections were delayed or misplaced.::

::I've just been informed by the Prime's staff that many administrative offices have suddenly developed issues with their official comm lines, my Lord.:: A message dutifully arrived in Megatron's queue, informing him of the same. From Jazz. Of course. ::It will not, of course, affect our own work, but it would be difficult for those without the proper protocols to file any formal inquiry at this time,:: Writ noted.

Megatron smiled as he stepped forward. ::Excellent.::

A glance to the side confirmed that several Senators looked ready to blow vital gaskets. Oh, this was going to be delicious. He was going to have to thank Soundwave for this. In as many ways as possible.

"I, Megatron, accept."

Ah, the sound of Senatorial outrage was sweet music to his audials. Megatron enjoyed it for a klik before muting it and leaping up onto the edge of the dais. Tradition stated that the Chosen join the Champion on the stage for the final parts of the ceremony. There were no stairs (it was almost as if the architects had never considered that the Prime or Lord High Protector might need to get to the Arena floor—tsk, tsk, such an oversight…), but a Protector-grade warframe was more than capable of leaping the distance, if it was willing to abandon protocol.

Megatron was _very_ ready to abandon protocol. He landed without even a tolerance warning from his frame.

He opened a comm line to the Prime as he strode forward to stand by his Champion. ::Is this your doing?::

::My doing?:: Optimus replied, all innocence. ::You overestimate me, brother. I am just as surprised as you. Though quite happily so.::

Soundwave looked battered and a bit dazed. He was probably exhausted and low on fuel. Megatron's hand coming down on that familiar pauldron…gently, of course.

 _Soundwave_ , of all mechs. Soundwave, ever-reliable and professional, who never broke a rule that Megatron had not already broken himself…. Soundwave, who obviously had the largest cybertronium bearings in the known universe.

Soundwave, who was looking just a bit unsure of himself. That certainly wouldn't do. "Clever, as always," Megatron said quietly, glyphs fond. "I should have known that you would find a way to do what I could not. I'm looking forward to this Courtship."

Soundwave's optics flickered, one of his tells that he didn't fully understand, but he smiled back. Shyly. Relieved.

"Champion and Chosen, would you like to consummate the Courtship now?" the Prime asked.

"No!" Soundwave replied, quickly, looking slightly shocked and definitely as if he'd forgotten that some Courtships did that.

"No? Are you sure?" Megatron asked, idly, as the crowd laughed and hooted. He nearly laughed at the alarmed look on Soundwave's face.

"It…I…." Soundwave reset his vocalizer. "Soundwave, sure. No public interfacing."

"Ah, well…some other time, then."

Soundwave glanced at him warily as Optimus moved on to the closing blessing. "Don't look at me like that," Megatron murmured. " _You_ started this."

Soundwave looked for a moment as if he meant to reply, but then his optics flicked from Megatron to the Prime to the Senators' boxes, and he just smiled. It was a very small, very smug smile. It transformed his face and Megatron found himself losing the thread of the ceremony and suddenly impatient for some privacy. Luckily, Prime helpfully raised his voice on the last line of his blessing.

"-until all are one!"

The crowd's ritual reply neatly covered Megatron saying, "I'm assuming you don't want to deal with the media slag that the Champion has to go through?"

Soundwave looked as if he'd rather walk through acid rain. "Correct."

"Good. Then let's make our escape. Follow my lead."

The halls extending from the Arena floor itself would no doubt be clogged with well-wishers and journalists at this point. Megatron could already see the Arena security staff and the Guard shuffling their positions, their program thrown into chaos by the inclusion of the Lord High Protector in an unsecured area. Megatron solved the problem by leading the retreat to familiar ground, striding back toward the dais and leaping to catch the edge. By the time he'd pulled himself up, Soundwave had already leapt up beside him and was stepping down onto the dais with a bow to Optimus. "My Prime."

"Soundwave," Optimus said, looking rather ridiculously pleased. "Congratulations, and best wishes."

"Thank you, my Prime."

"Escaping now," Megatron said, sweeping back toward the exit.

::Have fun, my brother.::

Megatron flashed a grin at Optimus over his shoulder as Soundwave ducked into the hallway at his side. ::Oh, I intend to.::

Writ was waiting for them. "My Lord, Soundwave, sir, am I right in assuming that you do not wish to give a public statement or any interviews at this time?"

Megatron shook his head, and Soundwave replied, "Affirmative," his field shrinking in something akin to horror.

Megatron doubted that Soundwave had any desire to take part in the vorns-long publicity circuit that was usually a part of the Champion's reign. The media, Megatron was fairly certain, was going to _hate_ him. Possibly hate both of them. Megatron also doubted that either of them would care.

He smiled to himself. It was going to be an eventful Festival cycle.

Writ nodded, "Very well, sirs, I will notify the media that you do not wish to give any interviews at this time." His long arm swept out to gesture to the corridor to their right. "The way to the Primal Palace has been cleared, my Lord, if you wish to travel in privacy?"

They did. The skies would be chaos, and the walk from the Arena to the Palace was not terribly far and allowed Writ to update them on his very busy last few kliks.

"Shockwave assures me that there are no legislative objections that can be raised to your Courtship."

"Good," Megatron said. "I had assumed that if there were some Senator would have shouted code section and line at us, but that is good to hear."

"There are, however, a few administrative issues that require your input. Your aide position, Soundwave, has you placed under the Lord High Protector's authority, which is a conflict of interest for a courting couple. Am I correct in assuming that you two would like your professional relationship and your duties, Soundwave, to remain as unchanged as possible?"

Soundwave nodded, looking mildly alarmed at the idea of change. "Affirmative."

"Agreed," Megatron said.

"Very well. I have consulted with the Prime's staff-"

"I'm shocked," Megatron mumbled.

"-and we have come up with a proposal that should satisfy all involved." He pinged them both a set of forms and launched into walking them through Soundwave's request for reassignment as liaison to the Prime's special operations division, where he would report to Jazz as his commanding officer. The forms boomeranged back to them, marked within kliks with Jazz's and the Prime's acceptance glyphs and containing an addendum under Jazz's signature that detailed Soundwave's new assignment as special liaison to the Lord High Protector's office. It was a neat bit of rearrangement that did not change Soundwave's duties at all.

"If you will sign that and return it, please, thank you, sir. There will be more messages regarding your transferral that will arrive after the Personnel Management office reopens after the Festival. And after the ah…comm difficulties are cleared up. I will notify you if any of them require your attention."

::By which he means that he is now monitoring your professional messages as he does mine and will flag anything you need to pay attention to,:: Megatron commed, with amusement.

::Ah. Good,:: Soundwave replied. Apology filtered through his field. ::Situation...significantly more complicated than anticipated.::

Megatron smiled. ::You did not fully realize the ramifications of mission success? I'm disappointed.::

::Chance of success, estimated to be less than ten percent,:: Soundwave replied.

::Well, that's what you get for underestimating yourself.::

Writ continued, digits clicking on his datapad. "Soundwave, sir, I have dispatched guards to your quarters. They will disturb nothing until they have your explicit permission, and they will make sure that no one else does in the meantime."

Soundwave's optics flickered, his glyphs inquisitive. "Thank you...but...why?"

Writ chuckled softly. "You are now famous, sir. Other Champions have found their belongings ransacked to be sold on the black market as collectibles."

The apprehension in Soundwave's field kicked up a notch. "Understood."

::Welcome to celebrity,:: Megatron said. ::Also, to politics.::

Soundwave vented a sigh. ::Soundwave...does not want this-:: He used an all-encompassing variant of the word: us, we, this situation. ::-to be awkward. Soundwave...only now realizes that course of action could be misinterpreted. Soundwave, does not want political power. Does not want elevated station or special privileges. Does not want to be...famous.::

Megatron chuckled at the particularly distasteful modifiers that came before, after, and during that last word. ::Fear not, my friend. You are many things, but greedy for power is not one of them, that I know.:: Had Soundwave wanted power, after all, there were much simpler ways to get it, and Megatron would have given it to him gladly.

"As for your living accommodations during the Courtship," Writ continued, "I have several options, if you would like to review them?"

Soundwave's field was starting to feel a bit like it did when a mission was piling on unexpected variables. Megatron pulsed reassurance at him, finding himself fascinated by the the play of emotions over Soundwave's still-bared face. Soundwave darted a look at him before nodding. "Options, welcome."

"You can, of course, continue to live in your current quarters, though I don't imagine you'll get much peace there. Another option is the Champion's apartments in the Temple of Mortilus, which will be available to you for the entirety of this Festival cycle. Given your continued duties with the Protectorate and the unique details of your Courtship, I have a third suggestion: the traditional Protector's Consort quarters have not been used in megacycles, but they seem to be appropriate. They adjoin the Protector's quarters yet provide a separate space that might suit."

"Ah...hn." Megatron said, clearing his vents uncomfortably. "I might be...storing a few things in there."

"Of course, sir," Writ said, blithely, with a gimlet, knowing glance. "I assume we would have your permission to find alternate storage for your...excess belongings?" The glyphs he used indicated that Writ's opinion of said excess belongings was one step up from "junk". Which was fair. Megatron couldn't even remember everything he'd tossed in there.

"Indeed." Megatron turned to Soundwave. "It is a good suggestion. Primus knows I don't have much free time, but it would be easiest to…share it if you lived practically next door."

"Agreed," Soundwave said, relaxing slightly and allowing Megatron to veer neatly away from the discussion of what sharing free time might mean.

Primus knew that Megatron had a few things in mind, but as far as formal courtship went…Megatron could only hope that Soundwave had more experience at courting than he did. Soundwave's tendencies and his own seemed compatible, at least. Perhaps they could start with sharing energon and discussing a roll in the berth and see where it went from there.

Writ's digits had never ceased their tapping. "The Consort's quarters will be keyed and ready for your arrival. They should be stocked with everything necessary to make you comfortable, sir. We can arrange later for your belongings to be brought over." The tapping stopped, as they reached the lift that would take them up into the Palace. Writ's lips quirked. "I assume that you'll have more important things to attend to tonight."

Megatron and Soundwave both looked at him, blinking. Megatron raised an optic ridge. Soundwave continued his impression of a slightly smug turbofox.

Writ just smiled, his datapad clutched to his chest. "Is there anything else you require, my Lord? Soundwave, sir?"

Megatron and Soundwave looked at each other, shrugging. "That will be all, Writ. Thank you."

"You are very welcome, my Lord, Soundwave, sir. And if I may say so, it's about time?"

Megatron stared at him, unsure if he should feel betrayed or not.

"Writ, knew?" Soundwave asked.

Writ's look was eloquently deadpan. "Sir. I've known you both for a very long time and seen the two of you interact perhaps more than anyone else on Cybertron. And besides... _thirteen_ Games? Honestly."

Megatron decided that he should feel betrayed. Writ just smiled. "A happy Festival night to you!" His glyphs insinuated clearly what sort of happy he meant.

"Cheeky fragger," Megatron grumbled as the lift took them up.

Soundwave was smiling. "Writ...always like this?"

Megatron huffed a laugh. "You will find that Writ is quite different in private than in public. He is not above bullying me when required and sometimes when not. It is well worth it, in my opinion." Megatron gestured in the general direction of the Arena. "He is worth his weight in anything you can name, as you have no doubt noticed. And he has evidently taken you on as yet another project in my household. You can trust him implicitly."

Soundwave nodded. "Soundwave, very grateful. ...Am unprepared for complexities such as these." Soundwave looked down at his digits, half of them still wrapped in meshweave, then up at Megatron. "Was this...a mistake?"

The lift stopped, doors opening on a quiet corridor, but Megatron ignored them, instead turning to his...his suitor. Beau? Wooer? All sounded ridiculous. Much too passive for the amount of concerted, steely effort that Soundwave had put into the whole affair. Champion had a much better ring to it.

Megatron's hand found Soundwave's pauldron again, waiting until Soundwave's optics met his before replying. "You know me well, Soundwave. Am I a mech who will willingly join a mission that I believe is a mistake?"

Through design or sheer exhaustion, Soundwave's field was loose. Megatron could _feel_ it steady under his palm. Soundwave's hand raised, laying along Megatron's wrist. "No."

"Well, then, there is your answer. We are both intelligent mechs taking part in this, and thus it cannot be a mistake." Megatron gestured down the hall. "Come. Let us get you settled. And some energon in you. You look like you're ready to fall over."

* * *

The Protector's Consort's rooms were decadently large, sumptuously appointed, and slightly dusty about the corners. Soundwave guessed that there had been some whirlwind cleaning done as they walked back from the Arena but that the space had not seen significant activity prior to that for some time. The main receiving room was larger than Soundwave's entire quarters, and a quick reconnaissance had revealed a personal office, several empty storage rooms, a bathing room with both washrack and oil bath, and a sleeping chamber complete with the absolute largest recharge platform that Soundwave had ever seen. Shelves and storage spaces obviously meant to be filled with decorative items and personal effects were empty, but given that there had been no Protector's Consort for several Primal Cycles, that was not surprising. A large and admittedly beautiful crystal cluster display had been placed on a prominent plinth and almost succeeded in making the sleeping chamber look minimalist rather than simply unoccupied.

The rooms also had a gorgeous view of the Iaconian skyline and were, Soundwave realized as he stood in front of the tinted transparasteel windows, eerily quiet. Orders of magnitude quieter than Soundwave's own quarters or any barracks he had lived in. Cybertron was busy, eternally populated with mecha going about their business at work or play. Silence was vaguely unnerving and mostly to be had in under-staffed starships or missions to low-population worlds. And, evidently in the Protector's wing of the palace.

Soundwave stared out at the ebb and flow of Iacon and wondered what, exactly, he'd gotten himself into. Somehow, his plan to Court the Lord High Protector had not included much thought as to how his day to day life would change once he'd actually achieved his goal. He was rather ashamed to say that he had not made the connection between Choosing Lord Megatron and the political position of Consort. There was no guarantee, of course, that Megatron would offer it to him, but the fact that Lord Megatron had said yes opened the possibility that he might _keep_ saying yes. Which was exhilarating and terrifying all at once.

Soundwave was fairly certain that, as much as he looked forward to the Courtship, that he would hate the role of Consort as much as he would hate the role of Champion, and much for the same reasons: he did not like socializing. He certainly did not like making small talk or answering inane questions or doing anything that involved strangers he had no interest in. Politics and celebrity both seemed to involve quite a lot of all three. He allowed himself to worry on that for a long klik before sighing and heading for the washroom. He paused by the empty oil pool, tempted at the prospect of a long soak, but ultimately decided against it. The night was not yet over, after all.

The washrack was the size of Soundwave's office in the Protectorate and smelled as if it had been very recently cleaned. The solvent immediately came out of the multiple showerheads with perfect pressure and at the exact temperature requested. As he stood under the spray, the warmth sinking into his plating, Soundwave admitted that he could very much get used to this. The provided brushes were generically sized but adequate for cleaning the grit and energon from his seams.

The smell of spent energon and cleanser reminded Soundwave of the aftermath of many, many battles, and he found that framing the last planetary cycle in that way helped ground him. He did not enjoy fighting in the way that some of the warframes did, but he could take pride in a job well done, and the Games had certainly been a job well done. He had also taken part in enough battles to recognize part of his current state as the chugging of his processor dealing with the aftermath of a prolonged battle. The strange overclocking in that last round, after all, had to be some sort of combined side effect from a helm hit and fatigue.

So, as Soundwave carefully cleaned his wounded shoulder, he assessed the situation as he would have after any battle. He'd been successful. Objective, obtained. Injuries, minimal. Lord Megatron had not rejected his Choice and thus was obviously not averse to a Courtship. This was good. There were a host of unanticipated and unwanted side effects, but Soundwave could deal with them later. The important thing was that his duties remained the same and that in his off-duty hours he would have his opportunity to make his case to Lord Megatron.

That was all that mattered.

Soundwave examined his bandaged hand as the solvent sieved through the meshweave. It didn't pain him, due to the blockers the medic had given him, and nothing seemed to be leaking. Soundwave tested the mobility, finding several angles that made something inside catch and grind. Gripping hard or bearing weight would be out of the question.

That thought led to another, then another, as Soundwave wondered what activities might actually still be on the docket this evening. Would his Chosen want to interface? Sparkmerge? Tonight? Ever? Megatron had joked about public interfacing in the Arena, but Soundwave could not tell whether or not that had been a joke to needle Soundwave, as Megatron tended to do, or had been...flirting.

After a long, contemplative moment under the solvent spray, Soundwave decided that he simply didn't have enough information yet to judge. Certainly not all courtships or even bonded relationships involved interfacing.

Soundwave had spent a lot of time _not_ thinking of interfacing with Lord Megatron. It had made it possible to go about his everyday interactions with the Lord Protector without any embarrassment and had just seemed to make things... simpler. Now, though, with the possibility sitting in the next suite of rooms, Soundwave found himself looking forward to a bit of complexity.

As the door shut behind him, Megatron stopped in the receiving room of his suite and just...stood there.

He was not nervous. Distracted, certainly. Excited, possibly. Not nervous. There was nothing to be nervous about.

The evening had veered off course with Soundwave's Choice. Had this been any other Games, Megatron would have likely spent his evening catching up on reading of some sort or other, or perhaps meeting with Optimus, as it was one of the few times that they could be guaranteed to be in Iacon together. They might have traded thoughts or discussed current events, sharing energon or an interface. There might have been a long, luxurious oil bath involved.

Now, there was, not unpleasantly, Soundwave.

::You are nervous.::

::I am not,:: Megatron replied. And he was not. Though he had to admit that he was not entirely certain what to do with a private companion that was not Optimus.

Optimus' glyphs were mock-contrite. ::I see. Perhaps our bond is malfunctioning, then. My mistake.::

Megatron offlined his optics and vented slowly. ::You are the most infuriating mech on the face of this or any other planet. And I am not convinced that you did not have a hand in this. You are entirely too smug.::

::I swear by the Matrix, brother, I had nothing to do with it. Soundwave obviously didn't need MY help to find a way to his desire. He deserves all the credit.::

Megatron shook his helm slightly. ::All this time, and he said nothing.::

::...all this time and YOU said nothing, as well.::

::...point taken.::

Energon. He'd not fueled since before the space bridge incident. Soundwave was no doubt even worse off. Megatron moved to the energon dispenser and contemplated the rather exhausting choices. He had long ago demanded that his dispenser default to something simple, rather than ask that he input his additive preferences to the last microgram. So, a press of a button would give him simple midgrade...but the first shared fuel with his Champion seemed to warrant something a bit more elaborate. Megatron realized that he had no idea what Soundwave preferred. They'd fueled together, of course, but their fuel had always been strictly ration-grade appropriate for their frametypes. He tried to remember if he'd ever seen Soundwave drink anything else. Had Soundwave gone to any Protectorate functions where something else was served? He had no idea.

It occurred to him that Writ could probably find out, if he didn't already know through some sort of administrative magic. But the idea of asking sounded ridiculous. He was, Megatron thought, Lord High Protector of Cybertron and its colonies, surely he could handle this simple decision on his own. He went with a simple sprinkling of platinum on a high-end midgrade. Understated. Classic. Extremely unlikely to be offensive in any respect. Perfect.

There would be time later to learn Soundwave's tastes. All of them, hopefully.

Megatron found himself smiling slightly. After so many vorn of not even letting himself consider Soundwave in anything but a professional capacity, the idea of having an entire Festival cycle to get to know him felt like an unexpected gift. One hard-won, as well.

His clever, clever Champion. Of all Megatron's idle thoughts on the matter, the idea of using the Games had never occurred to him.

Megatron wondered if the Senators were still shrieking. He checked his message queue and saw the telltale signs of Writ's ruthless pruning. No doubt Megatron would be briefed on the situation later, but the administrative bulwark appeared to be holding, for the moment. Not, Megatron realized, that any objections would change anything. Now that the possibility was within sight, he would not give it up so easily.

::And you?:: he asked, as he ordered a high-joule wargrade for himself, with a skim of ionized magnesium. ::Would you approve of him as Consort?::

Optimus' glyphs were more approving than they were surprised. ::You would want him as your Consort?::

::It's possible. There's much ground to cover between there and here, but...it's possible.:: Megatron idly watched the traffic crawl across the Iaconian sky as he sipped his energon and considered. ::Perhaps likely.::

::I very much approve, brother. I think that you will be good for each other.::

Megatron would never admit how much the pulse of joy and support over their shared spark steadied him, but it did. ::He will change us.::

::For the better, I believe. You deserve someone by your side. We work well together, but we are, sadly, not often together.::

::True.:: Megatron's smile widened. ::Shall I find you a Consort as well? It seems only fair.::

::Ha. No need for that.:: Was that a twinge of flustered unease sliding across their spark? That was a twinge of flustered unease. Fascinating.

::Oh, I think there is,:: Megatron purred. ::I have a few in mind, fear not. Very appropriate, and to your tastes.::

::Megatron-::

::But I must go. I've a Champion to woo, after all.:: Megatron took a smug sort of pleasure in cutting the comm line on Optimus' stammering. Let the Prime wonder how serious he was.

A chime sounded. The door between the suites opened to reveal Soundwave, now clean and looking less like he had gone thirteen rounds with some of the best fighters on Cybertron. He was still dented, one hand bandaged, and also still visor-less, a fact that Megatron found himself glad of. He was becoming fond of seeing Soundwave's face.

"I hope the suite is satisfactory?" Megatron said, handing Soundwave his cube of energon. "I have to admit, I've never paid much attention to it."

"Quarters, more than satisfactory," Soundwave assured him, taking the cube and downing the whole thing so quickly that Megatron immediately offered the other as well, which went down only slightly less quickly. "Thank you," Soundwave said, vents chuffing a bit at the wargrade's strength.

"More?"

"Sufficient for now."

Megatron raised an eyebrow ridge at him.

"...Perhaps another midgrade," Soundwave said.

"Hm." Megatron returned to the dispenser to fetch another round. "You fought well."

He caught Soundwave's usual modest headtilt as he turned and brought the cube back. He waited until Soundwave's optics met his before correcting himself. "You fought excellently."

Soundwave tilted his head, taking the cube and gesturing at his shoulder. "Acceptable. Soundwave, made mistakes."

"Yes, you did. But yet, here you are." Megatron sipped his own cube and gestured to the seating area. "Come, sit. We've much to discuss. Don't worry, I don't expect we will cover everything in one evening."

Soundwave's field was apologetic as he passed Megatron to take a seat. "Honestly, winning was...unexpected. Soundwave, apologizes. Demand for decision on such short notice, awkward."

"Of course. It's part of the tradition, after all." Megatron flicked his claws in dismissal as he took his own chair, across from Soundwave. "No apologies needed. It was unexpected, I admit, but understandable. I doubt that you bringing up the topic in any other context would have been any less awkward. And I do not regret my decision in the least. As I told you in the Arena, you found a way to bring us together when I had already dismissed it as impossible, and for that, I commend you."

Soundwave's optics flicked away, then returned. "Soundwave...hoped for that response. Hoped feelings were reciprocated. But did not know."

"And I was in much the same position." Megatron lips quirked. "We can both plan and direct entire military offensives involving tens of thousands of frames, and yet our personal lives are obviously beyond our skills."

Soundwave's answering smile was just as wry.

They sat drinking in companionable silence, and once they were done with their cubes, Megatron propped his chin on one hand and asked, "And what do you plan to do with me, my Champion, now that you've Chosen me?"

Soundwave hesitated, optics flicking up, then down to studiously inspect the bottom of his cube. Megatron stretched out his leg to tap Soundwave's shin with one pedetip. "It's not a trick question, I promise."

Even across the space between their chairs, something akin to embarrassment colored Soundwave's field. "Soundwave, wants Lord Megatron to be happy. That, only goal."

Had it been anyone but Soundwave, Megatron would have thought the simple reply a lie. Oh, it was a good reply, of course: there was none better than an altruistic, innocent wish for the Lord High Protector's well-being. Since it _was_ Soundwave, however, Megatron instead allowed himself to be flattered. He made a gesture to continue and waited, knowing that Soundwave hated to be interrupted.

"At first...Soundwave observed that Lord Megatron was sometimes...discontented."

"Discontented?"

Soundwave nodded. "Examples: Offensive 9, Ultrex. Beta 47 campaign. Stellar Aurora. 876-A."

Ah. Just the names made Megatron sigh, plating slumping slightly into his seat. Long campaigns, all of them. Long, hard campaigns that Megatron had been happy to see the end of. "I grew...tired, during those campaigns," he said. It was not quite the right word, but Megatron had been in politics too long to not default to the vague rather than the personal. Soundwave was correct, though Megatron had never considered it: those campaigns had been distasteful for other, more personal reasons.

"Tired?" Soundwave tilted his head up a bit, as if to taste the glyph.

"You were there," Megatron said. "Nine and Ultrex were cluster frags from beginning to end. Beta 47 took a vorn's continuous deployment and more sparks than it should have, because the Council could not make up its mind. The Aurora was too fragging long, and 876-A was entirely too much diplomacy for me. It should have been Prime's responsibility from the start, not mine."

Soundwave nodded. "May Soundwave, make an observation?"

"Always."

"Lord Protector Megatron, in those instances, grew tired, yes. Also, felt unsupported. Overburdened. ...Lonely." That last glyph was shaded with enough uncertainty that it was almost a question.

Megatron opened his mouth to protest...then stopped. Unsupported and overburdened he'd admit. The campaigns had been winnable but painfully so, full of hard decisions, complications, and his own limitations. And lonely... He _had_ spent quite a bit of those campaigns wishing that Optimus had been there. To consult and advise, true, but also just...to listen. To be someone Megatron didn't outrank or need to censor himself around. "Lonely" was not an inaccurate word, he supposed, and he said as much.

"Victory won," Soundwave continued. "But...Lord High Protector Megatron is not his mission objectives. Is Lord High Protector _and also_ Megatron. Both need support." Soundwave set aside his cube, moving to stand in front of Megatron's chair. With the difference in their heights, Megatron only had to look up at him slightly. "Soundwave, has supported Lord High Protector to best of his abilities. Wants...to support Megatron, as well. As aide. As friend. As mate, if desired."

It was a bit intimidating, seeing Soundwave cleanly identify and dissect feelings Megatron had not even begun to analyze. The dichotomy between his duties and his needs was not something he thought of often. He was well-suited to his tasks, and-as Optimus reminded him too often-a workaholic. Perhaps, though...he'd just not yet found something...or someone...that he wanted for himself. Not realized that there could be more. Someone there, outside of the Protectorate hierarchy...just for him.

Optimus' voice replayed in Megatron's memory: _We are both mere mechs._ "...you sound much like a certain Prime I know, going on about taking care of myself apart from my duties."

Soundwave's lips quirked. "The Prime is wise." He leaned down, pressing their forehelms together, his field opening like a rising sun, raw with a mix of loyalty/protectiveness/affection/love that Megatron had only felt from his spark brother.

"I...I am very fond of you," Soundwave said, his glyphs stuttering on the first-person "I", on the familiar variant for "you" that lacked acknowledgement of Megatron's title or of their differing ranks. "And I want you to be happy. I want to do whatever I can to make you happy."

 _Yes._ The response boiled across Megatron's meta like a stormfront. It wasn't as if he needed to _think_ about this. He reached up, wrapping his arms around Soundwave's slim form and pulling. Soundwave went, his field alight with quiet joy, and Megatron let his own unfurl as well, prompting a delicious tremble through the frame under Megatron's hands. Soundwave's hands rested on Megatron's shoulders as he carefully placed one knee, then the other on either side of Megatron's thighs so he could straddle Megatron's lap. Megatron drew him in, and their plates tapped, micro-reconfiguring for closer contact, extremely aware of the disappearing space between them, of the gathering charge.

"You will." Megatron chuckled into Soundwave's audial, his spark suddenly light. "I will find new and delightful ways you can make me happy, rest assured." He pulled back just far enough to rest their forehelms together. "And you...I feel as if I know you and yet I don't." He traced his fingers up and down Soundwave's back plating, skating lightly over dents and scratches. "I am flattered that you would do so much for me. And I am incredibly fond of you, as well. I may be a terrible mate, who knows...but I want to try to make you happy, if you want me."

Soundwave's response was in field and action: the happiness he radiated was gratifying, intoxicating, as was the tentative but rapidly emboldening slide of his hands over Megatron's shoulders, fingers slipping into the joints around neck and shoulders. Megatron rumbled in pleasure. Soundwave might not know all of his particular hot spots, but he knew enough to make a few good guesses completely without instruction.

Megatron leaned down, kissing the cluster of biolights in the hollow beneath Soundwave's collar fairing. Soundwave shivered ever so slightly, helm tipping back, and Megatron obliged, lips and tongue paying the spot extra attention before just continuing right on down to lick over a chestplate seam. This close, the energies of Soundwave's spark filled his field, tantalizing on quantum frequencies just on the edge of sensor range. Megatron's engine purred contentedly back and was met with an unexpected click as plating parted and transformed. Light blossomed, and Megatron was transfixed by the wash of multi-frequency light as he found himself face to face with Soundwave's bared spark crystal.

He blinked, then glanced up, slightly surprised. He had only himself and Optimus to judge by, and they enjoyed spark merging as much as anything their interface arrays could provide, but Megatron had been of the impression that merging was considered incredibly personal for those who did not already share a spark. Not exactly the first intimate act many would choose with a new partner.

Unless, evidently, you were Soundwave. Megatron traced a claw gently down the very edge of the chamber plating, smiling at the flicker of Soundwave's optics, the secondhand wash of pleasure. "You are certain?"

"Always," Soundwave replied, his field pulsing in a way that left absolutely no room for doubt.

"Good," Megatron growled, the light between them doubling as his own plates parted. Watching that light fall upon Soundwave's face, illuminating his small, delighted smile, was one of the more beautiful things Megatron had ever seen.

Soundwave reached out, slim fingers tracing the path Megatron's had taken, trailing along the edge of the chamber. Static charge crackled between the plates and his fingers, and Megatron's ventilation hitched at the prickling pleasure sensed both by sensors and, somehow, by the swirling energies spinning restlessly in Megatron's spark crystal. His hands tightened on Soundwave's hips, but Soundwave was already moving, rising and leaning in to rest their forehelms together as their spark chambers aligned like two magnets pulled irresistibly together. Charge leapt between them, long-denied, and Megatron only had time to turn his head, to brush his lips along Soundwave's cheek, before their energies meshed, and they were no longer alone in their frames.

Megatron had nothing to compare it to except for Optimus, and he was vaguely surprised at how alike and utterly _different_ Soundwave was. Aside from the purely physical (and Megatron was enjoying the novelty of Soundwave's slimness, of being able to hold Soundwave wrapped close and fully in his lap), Soundwave's spark was so different that it was like a completely different act.

There were so few descriptors that could adequately capture the sensation of someone else's spark energy sliding against your own. Millions of vorns of poets and pornographers had only come up with analogies for it. Some described spark sharing with metaphors for taste, or sight, or tactile sensation, but though every lover knew what those meant, all knew that they were also incredibly subjective. Scientists had even postulated that, given the quantum energies involved, that perceiving spark energy changed it, and thus each sharing of sparks was unique, two singularities hazing one into the other, fluctuating and morphing as they met and explored and _changed_ each other, like pools of liquid metal mixing to form some strange new alloy, every time.

Where Optimus was a warm gold sphere radiating warmth and light in all directions to encompass the entirety of Cybertronian kind, Soundwave was titanium strength, clockwork precision, and the cool, constant regard of determination. He slid into Megatron's spark like a knife made of pleasure and sharpened steel. Soundwave's emotions swirled across Megatron's meta: fierce, private, precisely targeted. Something that felt considerably stronger than mere affection bathed Megatron like a blast of novalight, meshing with and enfolding him, and Megatron offlined his optics, holding that sensation/emotion close and pulsing back what he was sure was a chaotic mash of trust, affection, desire, and respect. Whatever it felt like, it obviously met with Soundwave's approval, joy flickering between them, two pairs of lips curling in a smile as their coronas strained beyond their crystals, tangling as their interface deepened.

Soundwave's frame atop his had utterly relaxed, his arms draped around Megatron's neck, his spark radiating utter contentment as they cycled energy between them in a slow, easy circuit. Megatron chuckled. "You look as if you are about to recharge."

"Negative." Soundwave rolled his helm to look at Megatron, shifting his weight in Megatron's lap experimentally and making Megatron's ventilations catch. "Sparkmerge...physically exciting to you?"

"Of course. Isn't it to you?" Reality was no idealized romance novel, and one could not actually access thoughts or frame sensory data within a merge without a hardline connection, but emotional reactions came through readily. And though Soundwave was radiating pleasure, it was not quite the same as lust.

"Low charge," Soundwave murmured. "Interface, pleasant, but not required." Almost experimentally, he ran his talons down Megatron's side seams, scraping lightly along sensors and plating. The sensation, the closeness, Soundwave's weight in his lap went straight to Megatron's interface routines, making Megatron purr, optics dimming. Soundwave's fingers trembled slightly at that secondhand excitement. "Different."

"Different," Megatron agreed. Now that he was paying attention, he could feel Soundwave's contentment banking his own lust to a slower burn. As Optimus Prime's sparkbrother, however, he was used to the sensation of being the high emotion partner in a sparkmerge. "Pleasant."

"Pleasant," Soundwave sighed in agreement, both of their ventilation systems picking up slightly as something settled between them, spark energies tightening and relaxing, drawing them closer, deeper, at a slightly more urgent frequency.

Somewhere, somewhere that was not immediately THEM, there was surprise. Surprise, then recognition, then amusement and an answering pulse of warmth that reached out to enfold both of them.

Soundwave startled, tensing in confusion. "?"

Megatron's arms tightened around him. "Shared spark," Megatron murmured, nudging in the spark-direction of Optimus, sending a lazy, mischievous tendril of pleasure his way. "If he was lucky, he was at least sitting down."

A rather adorable sense of mortification filtered across the merge. Something else Soundwave had not thought of, evidently. Megatron just laughed, and elsewhere in the palace, Optimus laughed as well, the both of them wrapping Soundwave's spark in welcome until he could only laugh with them, coincidentally sliding deeper into the merge.

Megatron groaned. Soundwave felt like a long, cool drizzle of electrified high grade tracing a path deep inside his spark. Not a wedge, not a dilution, but as their sparks synced, as the energy rose, the quantum harmonics of the three of them flexed, strove, and _resonated_. It was intoxicating, _pleasure/excitement/greed_ flickering across the three of them like lightning, like the charge that crawled between Megatron's and Soundwave's frames. The power rose, not reaching a crescendo but rather a long, glorious plateau turning three into two into one, and as they blurred, as Megatron felt Soundwave's fierce joy, as Soundwave felt Optimus' love, as Optimus felt Megatron's unabashed, smug _satisfaction_ , their harmony trembled and burst into light, the released energy flooding through them, bouying them up before washing them, unraveled and remade and utterly sated, back into three frames.

When Megatron's audials came back online, it was to the sound of Soundwave's systems purring in time with his own as they parted, chestplates closing and leaving the room much darker for it. Megatron concentrated on the feeling of Soundwave fading from his spark, tendril by tendril, savoring it, and already looking forward to having it again.

Soundwave was strutless in Megatron's arms, his helm resting on Megatron's pauldron. "Soundwave, wishes won the Games many cycles ago."

Megatron chuckled. "I wish that I'd been less of a coward and asked you to be my Consort many cycles ago." He brushed his claws against Soundwave's cheek. The physical gesture did not seem as intimate as it had a joor ago, given the circumstances. "I know you don't want it, but I hope all the political ridiculousness won't scare you away."

Soundwave did not look scared in the least, his glyphs unadorned and absolute. "Soundwave, will stay."

"So sure?" Megatron teased. "After one evening?"

Soundwave's helm rolled, a smile quirking his lips. "Soundwave, known Megatron for considerably longer than one evening."

"You have great faith that I will not be a fine commander but a terrible mate."

Soundwave shrugged. "Soundwave, willing to take the risk."

"Well, then. On your helm be it."

"Megatron, known Soundwave for vorns. Megatron, known Soundwave to take part in mission he thinks is a mistake?"

Megatron laughed. "Many, many times. And the mission was always better for it."

"Exactly." A pulse of satisfaction filled Soundwave's field, his frame settling more comfortably in Megatron's lap. "Will stay."

 _Always,_ his glyph modifiers added.

"Excellent."

And it was. For all of ten kliks.

And then Megatron's inbox lit up with high-priority communiques. Soundwave got the same treatment, going tense in his arms, his processor almost audibly going from low to high capacity.

A line opened to both of them, stamped with Jazz's authority. ::I apologize for interrupting the honeymoon, but my agents just found evidence that that spacebridge explosion was no accident.::

::I _knew_ it!:: Megatron's optics flew open, then narrowed. ::Those floating cogsuckers no doubt think that we're _distracted_.::

Confusion briefly colored Soundwave's field, then comprehension as he apparently brought himself up to speed on everything that had happened while he'd been fighting in the Games. Megatron's inbox grew another cluster of communication exchanges as Soundwave began gathering information and forwarding it to him.

::That is because you are very good at this game, sir. We've got signals moving through the sensor grid heading toward the Yoor system, and they smell like Quintessons.::

::How many? Armaments?::

::Unknown. Less than 50, likely.:: Soundwave answered smoothly. ::Detailed analysis of sensor logs, in progress.::

Less than 50 was too small to be a serious invasion force. Most likely it was a strike force to pirate the Yoor system while that space bridge was down. Megatron tapped into the Protectorate's defense grid, pulling up troop positions and putting nearby systems and ships on alert. ::ETA?::

::Rough estimate, 2.34 Cybertronian planetary cycles.::

::They're strolling along. Don't think they know we've seen 'em.::

Megatron's optics narrowed. ::Briefing in one joor. I want _ideas_ for how to make this a lesson in why one does not frag with the Cybertronian Empire.::

He received various affirmatives from his senior staff and the Yoor local commanders. Jazz's affirmative sounded like he was all but rubbing his hands together in glee.

Soundwave's attention slowly came back to the room, and, with a sigh, he backed himself off of Megatron's lap and onto his feet. Megatron stood as well, his hands finding their way back to Soundwave's hips, and smiled, his tone dry. "All of this, now yours."

Soundwave's visor was in his hands, and he rolled his optics before sliding it into place. The facade of the emotionless aide was forever shattered, however. Now Megatron would never be able to see that visor without wondering what expression was hidden behind it. "Courtship gift, not needed. Timing, also inconvenient."

Megatron laughed, "You started this," he reminded Soundwave.

Soundwave rested his hands on Megatron's shoulders, leaning up to touch helms with an unseen smile. "Affirmative."


End file.
